


The King's Jewel

by Esthree



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst and Humor, Kink, M/M, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 15:56:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4269330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esthree/pseuds/Esthree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten years after the BoTFA Thorin is still obsessed over the Arkenstone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The King's Jewel

**Author's Note:**

> It was meant as angsty porn, but it seems the humorous side get the better of me, so it turned out to be a humorous angsty kink porn. Keep reading if that is alright with you )))

  
It begins as a joke. Dwalin is sprawled out on Thorin’s bed, sipping his ale and describing the reports of the patrols: quiet in the North, calm in the East, the West is swarming with elves as usual. At some point he realizes that Thorin is not listening. And it’s not because “I trust you” and “nobody can do it better”. Thorin draws the same line on the plan in front of him for tenth time, and it is written plain on his face that he doesn’t care about the elves, the patrols or Dwalin himself.

“…and didn’t notice anything shady apart from one nude Thranduil on the back of his moose.”

“Fine.”

“Is it?” Dwalin bangs his tankard on the nightstand with a loud thump. “Who am I telling this to for the whole fucking hour if it’s all the same to you?”

“I trust you.” Thorin moves the plan aside and puts the books on the table in a neat pile. “Nobody can do it better. But now I have more important things to worry about.”

He stands up from the table and begins to pace around the room.

 _More important?_

Dwalin arches his eyebrow. Thorin leans against a bookcase, staring vacantly at the flames dancing in the fireplace, his eyes unfocused.

“It is not… safe to leave the Arkenstone in the Throne Hall for the night.”

“Not safe? There are guards watching it day and night! What more safety do you need?”

“Every guard might be bribed. And if not,” Dwalin opens his mouth and Thorin holds up a hand to silence him, “who can guarantee that there’ll be no thief with some magic trinket like the hobbit ring, creeping in without being seeing? The Arkenstone has been stolen once, I won’t let it happen again.”

His makes up a fist, his knuckles going white, and Dwalin feels a chill running down his spine. Shortly after the battle Balin kept asking him what if the dragon sickness returned, what if it was only a temporary relief? But it had been ten years ago, and all this time Thorin had been behaving like a perfectly sane dwarf: he didn’t sit in the Treasury for days, didn’t throw his subjects in jail for nothing, didn’t wage war on neighbors. He even gave the forest sprite back his fucking gems. There was nothing suspicious – apart from the watch in the Throne Hall set not long ago. And constantly increasing worry for the Arkenstone. It was the same for Thrór when his mind was getting clouded with madness. 

Thorin straightens up and resumes his pacing.

“Lock it up in the Treasury? Not secure enough. Or put it in a hiding place? But someone could trail and find it...” 

Dwalin takes off his boots and climbs on the bed.

“Shove it up your ass.”

“What?”

Thorin looks so dumbfounded that Dwalin can’t help teasing him:

“No, why? It’ll be with you all the time and no thief could find it…”

Thorin stares at him like he’s gone mad, then throws back his head, breaking out laughing.

“And refuse my folk the right to see the greatest of our relics?” Thorin wipes off the tears. “After all, it’s the property of all the clans.”

He takes off his shirt, loosens the laces of his breeches, and all thoughts of the Arkenstone fade into the background.

***

Two weeks later Dwalin enters the bedroom only to find Thorin with a sparkling gem in his hands.

“I want it to be nearby.” Thorin cautiously lays the Arkenstone in the small forged chest, leaving the lid open. The amber flickering of the fire is reflected in his eyes, giving them the impression of the unblinking stare of a snake. It seems he’s about to wrap himself around his treasure and hiss, driving everybody away. 

“I feel safe when it’s here,” says Thorin, and Dwalin yields. The Arkenstone is the king’s jewel, and his king has every right to care for it and protect it from theft. But when at night, arching in his arms, Thorin looks at the Arkenstone, _thinks_ of the Arkenstone, _desires_ the Arkenstone, Dwalin finds himself seething with fury. He watches dispassionately as Thorin strokes himself to completion keeping his gaze fixed on the Heart of the Mountain, and feels that he is one too many in this bed.

When morning comes Dwalin heads to the forges spending the whole day there, and then retires to the workshop for a week or so.

The day he completes his work, a delegation from Mirkwood arrives in Erebor and Dwalin runs his legs off, checking the sentries and inspecting the posts. Fucking tree shaggers! Barely more than two dozen and it seems like they are all over the mountain. By the evening his sole wish is to fall down onto the bed, any thought considering the diplomatic protocol banned till the next morning. If Thorin’s furious gaze is any indication, he craves the same. He snarls when Dwalin takes his lips, nipping at them, moans into the kiss when Dwalin’s leg goes between his thighs, and buries his fingers in Dwalin’s half-mane, squeezing his torn ear – exactly as Dwalin likes it. Dwalin makes a deep growl and feels for the laces of his pants, but Thorin all of a sudden puts a hand on his chest.

“Shit. Forgot it.”

He heads to the door, halts for a moment, shakes his head and returns to grab his coat that had been thrown over the back of a chair. Then he strides into the drawing room, struggling to get into the sleeves, and disappears down the hallway leading from the inner rooms to the Main Halls.

“Fine! Take your toy here!” Dwalin can’t help shouting into the hollow room. “I’ve got something for it.”

Thorin comes back, carefully carrying the Arkenstone in his palms, and when it takes its usual place on the table Dwalin gets his hand in the pocket of his coat. 

“Here.”

Thorin arches his brows in surprise. He takes the bundle and unwraps it slowly. There’s a delicate filigree cage made of the finest mithril wire gleaming like moonlight on a dark velvet cloth. A short handle decorated with a large sapphire which amplifies smoothly, turning into an elongated sphere, woven of silver threads that separate and intertwine forming a pointy edge on the other end. Some jewellery, that’s for sure, but what’s its meaning?

Thorin slides his finger along the elegant ornament, traces the outline of the handle, touches the dark blue gem set on top, and with a quiet click the cage opens up in his hand fitting nicely, almost like the… 

“Are you fucking out of your mind?!”

“I? It’s not me who is jerking off to a gem every night!”

There’s wild fury in Thorin’s gaze, and Dwalin is ready to get a hard blow on the face, but Thorin simply stares at him for a long moment and shoves the bundle back at him. Then he takes the Arkenstone, puts it in Dwalin’s hand without a word, turns away and begins to strip off his clothes.

Dwalin looks awestruck at the gem lying in his palm. Here it is, shimmering with all its facets – the Heart of the Mountain, the greatest treasure of Erebor, that nobody dares to touch recently, aware of king’s wrath that would befall them if they did. When he looks up, Thorin is already stretched out on the bed completely naked. Having put the Arkenstone in the holder, Dwalin snaps it shut, throws it on the bed and starts undressing himself, while Thorin stares curiously at the gem locked in the mithril cage. Thin threads are placed strictly on the edges of the facets – Dwalin thinks it’s totally worth three days spent composing the design – so that the light deflects freely, combined with the dim gleaming of the metal like the moonshine floats on the surface of a river, running from under the mountain into the valley.

Looking at the Arkenstone Thorin closes his fist around his stirring cock, runs it slowly up and down, licking his lips, and Dwalin can’t bear it any longer: he tugs forcefully at the laces of his pants and falls on Thorin, leaning on his elbows, covering him with his body, standing in the light of the shining gem. This is his place, his right. His _treasure_. The sharp lines of a tattoo visible through the wiry chest hair. Dark nipples standing in small peaks under his palm. Wild black locks, tossed on the pillow like curled up snakes. Narrowed eyes like those of a feigningly relaxed predator. 

Dwalin leans closer, traces Thorin’s cheek with his tongue, leaving a wet stripe, nips at his lower lip, pushes his tongue inside Thorin’s mouth and groans when he kisses him back with the same fury. His blood runs hot and fast in his veins, pulse beating loudly in his ears, and Dwalin’s cock tries to break free from his unfastened pants. Dwalin moves his hips, pushing into Thorin’s spread form and feeling his desire, thick and hard against his thigh. Then with a sigh he pushes himself up – today he has other plans.

Three fingers are not enough. Usually they can get by with two but the gem’s form, even smoothed over by the holder is far too inconvenient for this purpose, and Dwalin adds his pinky, stretching the hot channel. Thorin throws back his head against the pillow and growls impatiently. Dwalin pulls his fingers out and sets the pointy end of the mithril cage at the narrow entrance. At first its slides inside easily enough but when it comes to the middle point the muscles stretch around the Arkenstone much more than around his cock, so Dwalin stills his hand and waits for the strain to go, lightly caressing Thorin’s inner thigh. Thorin breathes heavily, biting his lips. His brows are frowned, and eyes are shut. There are miniscule beads of sweat on his neck and collarbones, sparkling in the candle light like tiny golden scales, and the white gem enclosed in its double holder shines in the twilight of the room flashing against the pale skin.

Desire turns into burning craving, but Dwalin ignores it pointedly, leans forward, nuzzling the soft skin of Thorin’s belly, his coarse hair, and breathes in the thick heady scent. His warm breath reaches Thorin’s cock and it twitches with interest, looking proudly towards the high ceiling. Thorin tries to push his hips up, but Dwalin holds him down firmly and slowly pushes the Arkenstone in until only the handle is outside. Thorin arches his back with a loud moan and falls on the bed breathing heavily. Dwalin slowly runs his palm along the warm slightly furred skin, kneading tense calves, thighs, caresses Thorin’s rising chest and waits until his breathing evens out. Little by little Thorin relaxes and the corners of his mouth go up. His lids are still shut, and Dwalin asks himself what is hidden underneath. Perhaps it’s the dim light of the dragon fire? Or - Mahal forbid – the white glitter of the Arkenstone breaking through? But when Thorin opens his eyes, they are clear and bright and blue, and they are turned to him. Thorin sees _him_ at last, looks at _him_ with undisguised desire, and Dwalin inhales shakily and leans his forehead against Thorin’s bent knee.

The Arkenstone has the king’s size, indeed – almost of a dwarven fist. Estimating the possible heights of sensation, Dwalin takes the handle and starts rolling it carefully from side to side, his other hand caressing Thorin’s thighs, going up to his chest, pinching his nipples slightly. Thorin’s laboured breathing is loud in the quietness of the room. His cock is almost painfully erect and leaking precum but he doesn’t make any attempt to touch himself, clutching the sheets in his fists instead. With a sneer Dwalin pulls the handle out a little. 

“Perhaps I’d better leave it here for the day? Who knows what the elves have oin their mind.” He pushes the Arkenstone back and Thorin moans, shuddering wildly.

“You bastard…”

He looks up at Dwalin, his gaze hazy with lust, and urges his friend to come closer, slipping his hand into Dwalin’s pants. Dwalin groans when a fist closes firmly around his cock, and nimble fingers start rolling the balls in his sack, nipping the sensitive skin behind them. He barely has the time to notice Thorin’s insidious smile and then a hot, wet mouth is on his prick and the room starts floating before his eyes. Thorin sucks him greedily, licking along his shaft, and Dwalin feels like he could come from the sight alone. He takes a deep breath forcing himself to relax, sinks his hands into the dark locks, enjoying the way they slide through his fingers. Thorin murmurs something unintelligible and takes him even deeper. Dwalin pushes his hair aside to watch his flushed face with eyes half closed and lashes trembling slightly. There’s a thin trickle glittering in Thorin’s beard. Dwalin wipes it with his thumb and leaves his palm at Thorin’s cheek, feeling his own movements inside. Thorin looks up at him – his gaze is drunken and hazy like after elvish wine – and places his hand on top of Dwalin’s. And this simple gesture makes everything inside Dwalin tumble and fall like an avalanche in the mountains, and he croaks Thorin’s name, driving his cock deep in his friend’s throat and spills inside. After some moments he sits heavily on the bed, breathing with difficulty, and makes himself reach for the handle and pull it out. Thorin trembles all over and moans, coming untouched.

“Give me some wine.”

Dwalin snorts, makes it to the table, pours a goblet of wine and drinks it in one gulp. Then he pours another and returns to the bed, placing the goblet in Thorin’s hand. The latter drinks without opening his eyes and shoves the goblet back at Dwalin. 

“And don’t you dare wake me up before noon.”

“What about the elven envoy? The Council? The treaties?”

“It would be a miracle if I could sit down at all.”

Thorin turns his back at him and Dwalin smirks and stretches out by his side, pulling him closer by the waist. The Arkenstone lies peacefully on the floor in front of the fireplace, shining in the dim light of the room. And Dwalin catches himself feeling no anger or irritation towards the white gem. After all, it’s just a king’s jewel, worth to bring pleasure to his king. And he’ll see to it.  



End file.
